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Servants and Kinguin soldiers alike are pushed aside.
Heavy footsteps echoing off the stone walls with Tywin storming through the fort corridors. Torch lights cannot hide the glint of vengeance in his eyes. His broadsword clicking mad against his back with his shoulder plates blinding any red eyed from staring at him. Sweat on their foreheads, and Tywin does not fail to notice the minute fiddling of fingers and holding onto the drapery of their bearings. His mind is a maelstrom of grief and rage, images of Sam's lifeless body intermingling with fantasies of crushing Sol's skull between his bare hands. Distorted shadows across his face, highlighting the anguish and fury etched into his features.
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Just as he reaches Sol's chamber door, a slender figure darts out from an alcove and blocks his path. It is Zera, her eyes wide and tear-filled, her hands outstretched in supplication.
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"Tywin, stop!" voice cracking low in an attempt to control "This isn't the way!"
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Tywin snarls, trying to push past her, but Zera is quick. She gestures with her fingers, and suddenly Tywin finds himself ensnared by nearly invisible strings, his limbs bound and immobilized. The door knob grazing the tip of his gloved fingers.
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"Release me, Zera," he growls, struggling against the bonds. "I must end this now!"
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Zera shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Killing Sol won't bring Sam back. It will only lead to more pain, more death."
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Behind her, Gordon, Hubert, and Dori catch up, their faces somber.
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"Zera is right," Gordon says heavily. "We all grieve for Sam, but killing a high princess in a neutral foreign kingdom not only hurt our reputation, or completely end Dramescula, it will open a war for the people here."
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Tywin's chest heaves with barely contained rage and sorrow. "Then what would you have me do? Let her evil go unpunished?"
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Zera steps forward, placing a comforting hand on Tywin's shoulder. "We will have justice for Sam. But it must be done right, with clear heads and pure hearts."
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Dori nods in agreement. "Sam wouldn't want this for you, sire. She wouldn't want you consumed by vengeance."
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Tywin deflates slightly, the fight draining out of him. Zera releases her strings, and he slumps against the wall, his head bowed. The servants watching cautiously with crimson glares and Zera asks everyone else to help her bring Tywin for a fresh air. Tywin does not resist as Hubert—transformed into a dwarfized ogre, carries their leader on his back. Gordon and Zera watches their back with Dori leading the front, saying that she knows a way up to the top.
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As they walk with Tywin staggering, Dori asks if there is a chance to bring her back. “I’ve heard from Djahatian texts that you can bring someone back to life”
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“Provided that you know you are dead,” Gordon says, “We’ve thought of that before, even before you joined Dori. Many of us died and there are those who wants to fight with us like you. And the idea of bringing someone back to life has no records. It is only a theory, said that when you die you forget everything, and the jackals will be guiding you to wander around the Necropholis until your due judgement.”
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"Really? What I’ve read has the same text but said that if we have a sacrifice to offer, we can pull back a soul from Necroxia.”
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“Djahatian practices does include a lot of sacrifices…” Gordon ponders on the possibility, “So like an exchange?”
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“It is like an exchange and there is a chance that the soul will enter the sacrificed body…”
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“And what would happen then?”
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“Well, they will live in that body”
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“Sounds horrible.”
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“But if it is possible” Tywin groans in,
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“It is unethical” Zera stops whatever idea their leader wants to ponder his head on, “Using a human sacrifice? The Djahatians even keep that process a secret from by praying to their own Gods in keeping their rituals private. And I’ve heard that they always forcefully kidnap their victims. Since praying to the Gods that you will be sacrificed will send your mentality to a trip to madness. You won’t be able to think properly ever again.”
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The Whiteblood knights emerge from the narrow, winding staircase onto the top of the fort, the sudden openness a stark contrast to the confining stone walls. The cool breeze carries the scent of the misty marsh below, tinged with the distant aroma of sweet-scented fruits. Berries overwhelming the other scents. Tywin's eyes, still haunted by grief and anger, scan the battlements, only to land upon the unexpected figure of High Princess Giza.
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She stands near the edge, her dark hair whipping about her face, the rich fabric of her gown fluttering in the wind. Tywin's hand twitches toward his broadsword, but Zera's fingers dig into his arm, a silent warning.
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Dori steps forward, her voice rough. "Princess. Thought you'd be down there," she jerks her chin toward the festival, "with your people."
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Giza turns, her eyes narrowing. "I needed air. It's crowded."
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Tywin scoffs, but Zera speaks before he can. "Same for us. Festival's a bit much."
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The princess's gaze roams over the group, suspicion etched in the lines around her mouth. "Long way to come for air."
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Zera shrugs, her tone light despite the tension. "View's better up here."
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Giza hums, unconvinced. She turns back to the battlements, her posture stiff. The knights exchange glances, the unspoken question hanging heavy between them.
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In the awkward silence, Hubert and Gordon start a game of tag, their laughter too loud and forced. Zera moves to Tywin's side, her hands finding the knots in his shoulders, kneading the tension away.
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The princess watches from the corner of her eye, her words sharp. "Why are you really here?"
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Dori opens her mouth, but Tywin cuts her off. "Could ask you the same."
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Giza's lips thin. She says nothing.
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The conversation staggers on, each party probing, searching for answers they're unwilling to give. Tywin's frustration mounts, his grief a living thing clawing at his chest.
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Suddenly, Hubert's voice rings out. "Look! It's Thean!"
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They turn to see the limping figure below, making his slow way out of the fort. When they turn back, Giza is gone, vanished like mist in the sun.
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Tywin curses, his hand finding his sword hilt. "She's hiding something."
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Zera nods, her face grim. "We'll find out what. But carefully. We're not home here."
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As they make their way down, the festival's noise grows louder, but it's a hollow sound to Tywin's ears. All he can hear is the pounding of his own heart, the whisper of vengeance in his blood.
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Thean limps her needle legs, prickly with every step and hard to maintain her balance as she leans against a woman in a cloak. She leads and holds carefully towards one of Thean’s stalls where it is a hut with just a donation box. Thean quickly walk in, and find herself sitting behind the bamboo walls inside a tight space filled with dried leaves. The cloaked lady locks the room and the hut before leaving, not realizing the quiet and stone princess who had been following the, and managed to break the locks by simply a touch and they turn to stone—easily crumbled in between her fingers.
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Silently walking inside and hearing Thean breathily whisper out a name in her strained groans, “Dramescula,”
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Inside the small room, Thean’s right side of her face transforms. Her eye bleeds scarlet, the skin turning a deathly white. Her lips darken to a bruised purple, twisting into a grotesque smile that contrasts sharply with the anguish and fear on the right side of her face.
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"Nice meeting you darling," Dramescula purrs, her voice silky and mocking. "Isn’t a fine day for us to finally meet? Though why are we in this suffocating room. Can’t we go out for a walk?”
Breathing in, and breathing out in relief, as if the moment Dramescula’s split came out, she can finally breathe.
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“mmmhm~ Things outside are looking well for you darling. Many are dropping their fruits to your stalls. Couldn’t be more rewarding than that right now, right?”
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“Shut up” biting her lip,
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“Awe, are you wondering how I got into you? You are sweating buckets. Do not worry, I won’t hurt you~ Just want to rest in you for a bit.”
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“Rest all you want,” grunting, “We will be leaving as far away as possible.”
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“Leave!?” and the split seems flustered, “You wouldn’t leave Sol, nor the festival~ That elder sister of yours would be so angry that she might execute your dear Sol~”
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“As if you will let her do so.”
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“Ahahahaha~ Right, you somehow know me than my own daughter. How peculiar.”
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Then the door of their small room opens, “You won’t be leaving anywhere” Giza striding in and looking down at the two heaps of garbage, “Not until you have my permission.”
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Thean looks up at her sister with a mix of hope and terror.
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"G-Giza," she stammers, "How did you know I am here…”
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“You will not be leaving,” Anchoring her words, “Not a matter of telling you how I know you had a monster in you or that you look pale as a ghost.”
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“Haha” Thean chuckles, painfully against her side, “You worried about me?”
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“You’d start a war before I could worry.”
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“Ghosh~” the split interjects, “You two sisters are so brave and different from the common rabble women, or knightly women I have ever met throughout my living~”
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“I don’t care” Giza says, “What I care is for you to heal up quickly before I’ll ask a charlatan to take your place.” Lashing out her foot to Thean’s right cheek.
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And Dramescula’s split cries out in pain, wanting to crumple herself to the dry leaves.
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“You’d gladly replace me for a charlatan?” Thean questions with a mischievous smile, “Just have a harlot or a gold statue in the like of me. Tell them that I am taking my freedom for a while from all this nonsense”
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“We are at war”
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“YET at war,” Emphasizing her words, “Everyone is so anxious whether that will happen or not, that they do not care anymore. And, I too do not care if the kingdom will go mad.”
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“I am here to remind you that you are a HIGH PRINCESS”
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“Yet I feel more staged than I should be a High Princess.”
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“Oooooh oooh,” The split excitedly goes wild again, “We’ve got a guest in the hut!”
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Giza turns and walk out, as always, without an expression. Who replaces where he stood is Tywin with his eyes ablaze as he stares down at Thean.
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"Hello, handsome," Dramescula purrs, licking her tongue for the thick fleshy meat—that which is Tywin’s nape, “Can you princess carry me back to the fort? My legs hurt~”
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And he does so, striking at the jaw and knocking the lights out of Thean and the split. He carries her, the mates right behind him as they go back to the fort.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
